“I am alone,” she cried, “except for him—”
She pointed where her husband, on a stone
As grey as he was, sat and held his forehead—
“We are alone now, my boy. Too late,
Doctor. Even the nurse is gone. The child,
The dear child, is dead. They both are dead—
Dora, and the other one that never,
Never, never breathed.”
She clutched at Bruce,
Feeling the doctor brush them as he passed,